Bibbie’s beautifully manicured fingernails tapped a tattoo of displeasure on her old, scuffed desk. Then she sighed.
“Fine. So tell me about the problem with the Splotze-Borovnik wedding.”
Melissande retreated to the client armchair and sprawled, heedless of wrinkling her day dress. When Reg didn’t make a cutting remark about princesses who carried on like ruffian football players- and why not? Is it because she doesn’t know she’s supposed to, or because I really am in disgrace? — she fixed Monk’s beautiful, temperamental sister with an earnest gaze.
“I’d tell you if I could, Bibbie, only Sir Alec refused to tell me. Not the particulars, anyway. According to him, all we need to know is that Gerald will be on assignment, I’m to provide him with a reason for being there and you’re coming along to protect my reputation. Absolutely no janitoring from us, at all, under any possible circumstances whats oever. Or else.”
“What?” Bibbie sat up, fresh colour rushing to her peaches-and-cream cheeks. “D’you mean to say we’re going as-as- gels?”
She nodded, gloomily. “I’m afraid so.”
“ Oh! That manky Sir Alec!” Incensed, Bibbie zapped her bowl of paperclips with such a strong levitating hex that instead of floating, they melted.
“Do be careful, Bibbie!” Melissande protested. “Paperclips don’t grow on trees. Melt any more and I’ll have to dock your wages.”
“Really?” Bibbie folded her arms. “D’you know, Mel, you’ve never been the same since you did that stint in the Wycliffe Airship Company office.” Her hot stare shifted. “Don’t you think so, Reg? Don’t you think she’s just like that dreadful, miserly Petterly woman? I swear, next thing we know she’ll be pilfering the bloody biscuits!”
“Petterly woman?” said Reg. “Sorry. Never heard of her.”
And lo, the second ghastly silence of the day.
Clearly mortified by the mistake, her sapphire-blue eyes wide with dismay, Bibbie reached a hand towards Reg, then let it fall. As though she hadn’t seen the gesture, Reg ruffled her feathers then sleeked them to her too- slender body.
“Think I fancy a lazy turn or two about the city. I’ll see you young hoydens at supper. Mind my mince is fresh, or we’ll be having words.”
And with a soft flapping of wings, she hopped around on the windowsill, launched herself into the mid- morning air and swiftly vanished.
“Blimey,” said Bibbie at last. “How awful. Mel, you have to believe me, it was an accident. I just didn’t think, I keep forgetting she’s not-that she wasn’t here for the Wycliffe case or-really, they look practically the same, and-”
“It’s all right, Bibs,” Melissande said gently. “We’re still getting used to her. Reg understands it’s going to take time for things to settle down.”
Bibbie shivered. “If they ever do.”
“They will,” she said, sounding far more confident than she felt. “Now, about this wedding business…”
“Yes?” Bibbie said, brightening a little. “What?”
“Even though Sir Alec clutched his cards so close to his chest I’m astonished he could breathe, I’m positive that trouble really is brewing. I think something’s happened to his janitor in Splotze. And that can only mean there’s a certain amount of-well-”
“Danger?” Bibbie’s eyes sparkled. “Excellent. I’m so tired of Gerald and Monk having all the fun. It’s about time you and I were allowed into the thick of things! Gels.” She made a rude sound. “By Saint Snodgrass’s elbow, I’ll give them gels.”
Helplessly, Melissande stared at her. At moments like this, Bibbie seemed like a child. But then, was it fair to expect she’d understand? She hadn’t seen Lional and his dragon and what they’d done to New Ottosland. To Gerald. Evil had never left its filthy fingerprints on careless, mercurial Emmerabiblia Markham.
“Excuse me?” said Bibbie. “Melissande Cadwallader, don’t you dare think at me in that tone of voice! I know exactly what I’m letting myself in for, thank you. Wasn’t I in Permelia Wycliffe’s firing line when she was brandishing the poisoned hairpins? Didn’t I shadbolt myself on purpose to help Monk?” Her lips trembled. “And wasn’t I standing mere inches away from that other Monk when he died?”
“Yes,” Melissande admitted. “But this is different, Bibbie. We’ll be in a foreign country, a long way from home and help. If someone really is trying to disrupt the Splotze-Borovnik wedding, well, chances are they’re not wearing kid gloves.”
Bibbie shrugged. “So? I don’t always wear kid gloves myself, you know. Trust me, Melissande, if anyone tries to get clever with me, or with you, or with Gerald for that matter, I’ll-”
“Yes, but Bibs, don’t you see?” Bubbling with agitation, she shoved herself out of the client armchair and picked her way between the office’s clutter of furniture. “That would be precisely what Sir Alec’s trying to avoid.”
The potted Weeping Fireblossom was looking parched. Needing a moment to think, she fetched the watering can from her room and splooshed the poor thing.
“We simply can’t rush about Splotze drawing attention to ourselves, Bibbie,” she added, setting the emptied watering can by the office door. “That might put Gerald in even worse danger than he’ll already be in. Besides, I’m going to this wedding in my official Royal Highness capacity, remember? Which means whatever I and my staff do will reflect upon Rupert. I won’t have him embarrassed or backed into an awkward corner or embroiled in some ghastly international incident because of you, is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Bibbie, sickly sweet.
Glowering, Melissande returned to the client armchair and sat, trying not to notice the unoccupied ram skull on top of the filing cabinet. “You can joke all you like now, Bibbie, but once we’re in Splotze you will have to call me Your Highness. You won’t be able to speak in public until you’re spoken to. And you’ll have to wear very plain, very un Bibbie dresses. Trust me, you aren’t going to enjoy being my lady’s maid at all.”
Bibbie waved an airy hand. “Nonsense. It’s going to be a rollicking adventure. But I give you fair warning, Mel… I’ll do my best not to embarrass you, but I won’t stand idly by twiddling my thumbs if I see Gerald’s in trouble. Besides, we both know that if I didn’t save him you’d never speak to me again.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Filled with foreboding, Melissande nibbled the edge of her thumb. Then a thought occurred. “Of course, Bibbie, if your parents object to the idea of you coming with us, and Sir Alec can’t convince them to let you risk yourself on his say-so, then-”
“Stop sounding so hopeful,” said Bibbie. “The Markham hasn’t been born yet who’d think twice about throwing his or her offspring onto the sacred altar of duty.”
“Oh.” So Sir Alec had been right about that? Damn. She nibbled her thumb again. “Yes, but your mother is a Thackeray, and-”
“And when it comes to duty,” Bibbie said, grinning, “the Thackerays think the Markhams are amateurs.”
Really? No wonder Monk was so driven to be the best Research and Development thaumaturgist in government history.
But even so…
“I think perhaps you’re underestimating the strength of parental feeling,” she said. “After all, Bibbie, you are their only daughter.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?”
“Well, it’s a bit late now for them to think of hatching a replacement, isn’t it?” she pointed out. “You know. If anything happened to you.”
Bibbie’s grin faded. “Oh yes, I see what you mean.”
“So maybe you shouldn’t set your heart on coming with us, just in case your mother and father-what?”
Staring into mid air, Bibbie was holding up one intimidating finger. “Melissande,” she said, dreamily thoughtful. She wound a curl of blonde hair around the finger. “Your brother. Rupert. By any chance is he still about?”
A little pang. “No. He had to portal home again before anyone realised he’d popped out.”
Bibbie pouted. “That’s a pity. I suppose, since you’re going to Splotze on his behalf-well, his and Sir Alec’s- he’ll be greeting you-us-upon our return? Congratulations on a job well done, and so on, and so forth?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to blink away the memory of Rupert’s worried, washy blue eyes as Sir Alec
